Hark. It is on the horizon. The time has come again for the feeding of my nerdish soul.
So comes the advent of the Motor City Comic Con with the sweet smell of spring, and with it comes the sweet smell of ancient papers covered with ink so fair. But must I convince you of the joys of this occasion? Is your heart far from it?
O, hear ye, faint of heart: The millions of expressions of cultural joys, innocence, angst and confusion that have been manifested through the arts with simple line drawings, colors and captions.
Will Chewbacca be there?
We knowest not. But the man beneath the fur is a fine gentleman we do hope to meet again.
Will Mary-Ann be there?
Yea, verily, she shall. But Ginger abstains. (Would you believe that Ginger’s real name was not Tina Louis? It was actually Tatiana Josivovna Chernova Blacker. Seriously.)
Will the most unique of the Batmans be there?
Yea. Adam West will grace us with his presence and humor. And yet of Robin we knoweth not.
In days of yore we have met with Lou Ferrigno, Louis Gossett Jr., the Ghoul (who is, in truth, a kind and gentle soul), the mysterious, yet kind, Doug Jones, as well as those who have trekked the stars and fought the wars of the star. We have met with great artists such as Bernie Wrightson and lived to tell the tale. Humbled. We have seen on display first editions of our popular cultural history – men of superness, spiderness, hulkiness, and women of wonder and catishness – worth much gold and silver. I myself have gathered the withered pages of famous monsters and enjoyed them forthwith.
If you do not understand the attraction of these sundry pleasantries, you will not be judged by me. I will only hold out hope that someday you will understand this language of the heart which is driven by imagination.
Until that day, I weep for you. With pity.
Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010